


The Girl and the Wolf

by monkeycat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fenris as the Wolf, Flemeth as the Grandmother, Hawke as Little Red Riding Hood, Meredith as the Huntsman, No Smut, Red Riding Hood Elements, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeycat/pseuds/monkeycat
Summary: "Marian’s grandmother was the one they called Flemeth, and she was fiercely proud of her only granddaughter. To show her love, she bestowed upon her a hooded cloak, softer than silk, redder than blood. Some whispered that the cloak was a curse, meant to draw the eye of all the dangerous things that lurked in the shadows of the forest. Others muttered that Flemeth had woven black magic into the cloak, making the wearer irresistible to any who looked into her eyes.But Marian cared little for seduction and even less for monsters. Let the beasts see her cloak and come to her if they dared. It would save her the trouble of having to hunt them down."
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. in which Marian sets off to visit her grandmother

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Angela Carter's short story "The Company of Wolves," a fantastic re-telling of "Little Red Riding Hood." In her story, Carter subverts the fairytale trope that men are heroes, beasts are monsters, and women are victims. 
> 
> Retellings of LRRH where the girl ends up with the wolf are common enough nowadays, but I thought the mage Hawke/Fenris dynamic (as well as the mage/Chantry conflict) lent itself well to a Dragon Age version of the fairytale.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Marian. She was the most remarkable girl you’d ever meet. She had hair black as a raven’s wing and eyes blue as the summer sky. But more importantly, she had the heart of a hawk, fierce and indomitable.

She lived with her family in a small village on the edge of a forest. This was no sunlit woodland with twittering birds and chittering squirrels. This was a dark and primeval forest, full of malevolent eyes and salivating teeth. The things that dwelt underneath those gnarled branches were ever hungry, so the villagers ventured into the forest only in times of great need, and always with fear in their hearts.

But Marian feared nothing and no one. In her veins ran the bloodlines of ancient magic. When other children were still shaking rattles in their chubby fists, she was learning to harness the lightning.

Her father was Malcolm Hawke. The villagers tolerated him as a strange but harmless old man who loved books more than perhaps was good for him. They did not know of the protective magics he wrought over the village, keeping the ravenous forest at bay. He was content to let them believe what they wished. He desired neither gratitude nor notoriety, but only to keep himself and his daughter safe and hidden from the world.

Marian’s grandmother was the one they called Flemeth, and she was fiercely proud of her only granddaughter. To show her love, she bestowed upon her a hooded cloak, softer than silk, redder than blood. Some whispered that the cloak was a curse, meant to draw the eye of all the dangerous things that lurked in the shadows of the forest. Others muttered that Flemeth had woven black magic into the cloak, making the wearer irresistible to any who looked into her eyes.

But Marian cared little for seduction and even less for monsters. Let the beasts see her cloak and come to her if they dared. It would save her the trouble of having to hunt them down.

Though the villagers called Flemeth witch and much worse, Marian loved her grandmother more than anything. She would have visited her every other day if her father had been willing to take her. True, her grandmother was not the sort of grandmother to bake cookies or crochet lace doilies. She was more likely to teach her granddaughter how to make berries into potions than into pies. But that was why Marian loved her all the more.

One day, Marian saw her father packing a basket full of food, as if readying himself for a journey on his own.

“Father, where are you going?” she asked him.

“We’ve had no word from your grandmother in almost a fortnight,” he told her. “This is unlike her. I must go to make sure all is well.”

“Nothing in the forest has the power to hurt Grandmother.” The girl spoke with utter certainty.

“Be that as it may. I must go and see for myself,” replied he.

“If you go, who will be here to guard the village against the forest?”

“I won’t be gone long.”

Marian looked at her father with eyes wiser than her years. “I wasn’t aware you had taken up Divination, Father.”

Her father sighed and looked at his precocious daughter. “Very well, Marian. What do you suggest?”

“You must stay here.” She picked up the basket of food. “I will go in your stead.”

He looked at her, not as a mage appraising his apprentice, but a father fearing for his child. “Daughter. I do not question your wits or your courage. But the forest-dwellers are as cunning as they are ruthless. They will look at you and see nothing more than a toothsome morsel.”

“Let them try to take a bite of me.” She smiled at her father, showing all her teeth. “I am no easy meat.”

In the end, he sighed and put her staff into her right hand, the basket into her left, and the red cloak upon her head.

“Do not stray from the path.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Keep your wits about you.”

“Where else would I keep them, Father?”

He watched her disappear into the shadows, pride and exasperation warring within his heart.

“Maker watch over her,” he prayed, though he doubted that even the Maker’s all-seeing eye could penetrate the darkness that lurked beneath those trees.


	2. in which Marian encounters two strangers in the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The heart of a beast is not evil, child. Beasts are driven by hunger and fear, but the only heart that seeks darkness for the sake of darkness is a human one."

Marian was both stubborn and brave, but she was not a fool. She knew she was only one girl, and the beasts of the forests were many. So she bade her father’s words and stayed on the path.

Beyond the path, the creatures watched her hungrily. But they dared not touch her as long as she followed it, for this was no ordinary path. Flemeth herself had cut this passage through the wilderness, traveling back and forth from her house to the village. It was little more than a ribbon of dirt, but anyone who traveled it walked in Flemeth’s footsteps. Even the most vicious beasts of the forest would not dare invite her wrath. So they followed the girl with greedy eyes, but kept a wary distance.

Some of the bolder trees reached out with their branches, thinking they might trick her into falling off the path and into their clutches. But when their twigs brushed the edges of her crimson cloak, the wood sparked and smoldered. Their inhuman screeches echoed through the forest.

Marian strode on without flinching. Her cloak rippled around her like a living flame.

Suddenly the quiet of the forest was broken by a roar, the angry cry of some great beast. In the next moment a bear stumbled out of the bushes and right onto the path in front of her.

Her first thought was that the creature had gone mad. But then she saw the bear bled from many wounds and knew then that the beast was blinded by desperation.

The bear screamed, and its death cry shook the forest with its rage. Then it collapsed at her feet and was still.

The girl looked up, wondering what manner of monster had overpowered such a great beast so easily. But there was no monster on the path before her, only a woman, clad in armor that shone with the brilliance of the midday sun. Golden hair tumbled down her back, and her eyes were two star-blue flames that blazed against the darkness around them. In her hands she gripped a great sword that pulsed scarlet like a beating heart.

“What are you doing in this forest, girl?” The woman spoke, and her voice was clear and filled with terrible purpose.

“I am going to visit my ill grandmother,” answered Marian. There was no fear in her heart, but she was wary. Strangers were a rarity in these lands, and clearly this was no ordinary stranger.

The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “No Maker-fearing person lives in these accursed woods.”

“She lives in the village on the other side.” The lie came easily to Marian’s lips.

The woman looked at her for a long moment. Then, apparently appeased by this falsehood, she turned to wipe her blade on the dead bear’s fur.

Marian thought she meant to skin the animal and butcher it for meat. “The beasts in this wood are not meant for food, serah. Their flesh is bitter and will make you ill.”

“I did not kill this abomination for food, girl.” The woman sheathed her blade. “I come to do the Maker’s will, to purge these lands of the blood magic that fills these woods, and the foul creatures that feast upon its corruption like parasites.”

She then stood aside and pointed at the carcass. “Besides, this is no bear.”

Marian watched in wonder as the dead bear rippled with strange magic. Its fur retreated into skin, its claws elongated into fingers, its snout flattened into a face. And then suddenly it was no longer a dead bear but a dead man clad in a bearskin, his flesh torn by so many sword wounds.

The woman prodded her body with the toe of her boot. “Do not be fooled by its human façade. This is a demon disguised as a man, nothing more.”

The girl stared down at the man and kept her silence, though she knew the woman to be wrong. She did not know who this woman was, but now she knew what she was: a Templar. The Chantry’s hounds, her father called them. They dedicated their lives to hunting down any mage not under the Chantry’s control and killing them without mercy. Man, woman, child – it made no difference to them. Her father had warned her of their strange ability to absorb magic and render mages helpless against their blades. For the first time Marian could remember, a flutter of fear brushed against her heart.

“You would do well to turn back, girl.” The Templar told her. “Other demons dwell in these woods, far worse than this one. That is why the Maker has brought me here.”

“I know my way, thank you.” Marian dropped her eyes, gritted her teeth, and curtseyed. “My faith in the Maker is my shield.”

The Templar shrugged, then turned to head back into the wilderness beyond the path. “On your way, then. My work here is not yet done.”

***

Marian hurried down the path. Her eyes darted left and right, but her feet did not slow. She knew with near certainty that the Templar had come to these woods looking for Flemeth. Stories of her grandmother abounded in these lands, each one wilder than the next. They painted her as a witch who danced with demons and devoured the souls of the innocent.

Flemeth had always found them quite amusing. _If I meant to go to the trouble of summoning a demon, child, I would hope I’d have more to ask of it than a dance. And what would I do with the soul of an innocent? They are as fragile and weightless as snowflakes. A soul of one who has lived – that’s far more valuable._

It was doubtful such logic would deter the Templar from her cause. Until today, Marian would have scoffed at the idea of anyone challenging her grandmother and living to tell the tale. But when she remembered the Templar’s eyes, burning with cold fire, and the shapeshifter’s many wounds, a shiver ran down her spine.

She picked up her pace until she was almost running down the path. Her only consolation was that she knew exactly where Flemeth lived, and the Templar did not.

Soon, she was no longer alone.

Marian didn’t know why the beasts of the forest were suddenly stalking her footsteps. Perhaps they sensed her fear and mistakenly thought her now weak and vulnerable. Or perhaps the Templar stalking through the woods had stirred up creatures usually left undisturbed.

She was loath to use her magic. It might draw the attention of the Templar. But she was even more loath to let herself be torn to pieces.

Abruptly she stopped, turning in a careful circle. Her pursuers were still in the shadows, but she could hear them rustling in the undergrowth, sense their greedy eyes upon her skin.

“I do not wish to harm you,” she spoke aloud. “But know that I am Flemeth’s granddaughter, and she has taught me well.”

It was a waste of breath. The wolves were beasts, not men, and they had already marked her as prey. Hunger was the only thing filling their minds. As one they rushed upon her, eager to crush her tender flesh between their jaws.

Marian lifted her staff and bent the wind to her will. A blast fiercer than any gale swept the air around her, tossing the wolves away like so many feathers. They yelped in pain and confusion, flung against the trees and the earth. But the edge of her cloak did not even ripple with the breeze.

She saw that there were five of them. These were no ordinary wolves. They would have towered over Marian had she stood next to them. One of them was already back on its feet. Its fur was as black as rotting wood, with teeth as jagged as broken glass. It crouched with a growl and a wiggle, almost like a puppy about to pounce on a toy.

This time, Marian pointed her staff at the ground. Earth coalesced into rock, quick as thought, and streaked towards the wolf, hitting it mid-leap with a sickening crunch. It fell limply to the ground and did not rise again.

The other four were warier, now, but unwilling to give up just yet. They circled her, and she looked back at them, shifting in place but unable to keep her eyes on all of the enemy at once. She accepted that it was likely at least one of them would sink its teeth into her before this battle was done. That did not mean any of them would live to enjoy the taste of her flesh.

She sensed one of them about to spring. Even as she turned with a lightning strike at the ready, she braced herself for pain from behind.

The air crackled as white light split from her staff, hitting three of the wolves with supernatural force. The bitter smell of burnt fur filled her nose. Her enemies lay sprawled at her feet.

But behind her there was also silence. She whirled around, staff outstretched, her other hand still firmly grasping the basket, not knowing what to expect.

Before her stood another stranger. This time, it was a man.

He was unlike any man she had ever seen. He was tall and dark-skinned, with silver-white hair that gleamed like the light of the full moon on a cloudless night. He held no weapon, and though it was hard to tell, she thought she could see his hands were dark with blood. At his feet lay the lifeless form of the last wolf.

But this was not what made her stare. His arms, lean and wiry with hidden strength, were covered in markings that traced the lines of his veins, glimmering with pale blue light. They crept up his chin, the curling tendrils stopping just under his bottom lip.

Marian’s skin tingled. She knew, without being told, that those lines were pure magic, etched into his very flesh. She’d never seen or even heard of anything of the like.

“Thank you, serah,” she said politely, mindful of her manners.

He looked at her, his eyes two brittle emeralds glinting in the darkness. “It did not look as if you needed my help to slaughter these creatures.”

Though his deep voice was flat and emotionless, she felt obscurely censured. “They attacked me first.”

“The hunters have become the hunted.” He observed. “Something that even the beasts fear stalks these woods. Else they would not risk crossing the path of a powerful witch.”

Marian laughed. The sound rang out unexpectedly in the forest gloom. The man’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise before settling back into an expressionless mask.

“Perhaps you mistake me for my grandmother, the one they call Flemeth,” she corrected him. “I am no powerful witch. I am only Marian.”

“You summoned lightning from the sky to strike these beasts down.”

“I am still learning. An apprentice, nothing more.”

He approached her carefully, as if expecting she would attack without warning. Marian almost smiled to think this man, capable of killing a wolf with his bare hands, would be wary of her.

“Has your grandmother taught you no caution?” he asked, stopping only an arm’s length from her. “Is it your habit to talk to strangers in these woods so freely?”

She looked up at him curiously. Even standing still and silent in the shadows, the aura of death hovered around him like a halo around the winter moon. This close, she could smell the metallic tang of blood on his gauntlets. He was barely any more civilized than the beasts that lay dead around them. Yet, somehow, she was not afraid.

“Are you going to eat me, serah?” She met his stern gaze with a fearless smile.

Something dark flickered in the man’s eyes as he looked down at her. She felt an unfamiliar ripple deep within her belly, tingling her skin with heat and frost all at once.

“I have told you my name.” She spoke again, boldly. “You have yet to tell me yours.”

He blinked, furrowing his brow as if the question confused him.

“I am called Fenris.” He finally answered.

“Fenris.” Marian breathed his name, feeling another strange thrill shivering up her spine. “There is a strange hunter stalking these woods. A Templar.” Her eyes strayed to his white-blue markings. “She seeks to kill any she suspects of being touched by magic.”

He noticed her staring, and the lines of his muscles tensed. “These markings were not of my choosing.”

“Be that as it may.” She wanted to know more, but his words were edged with bitterness, warning her to hold her tongue. “You would do well to shelter at my grandmother’s house. The Templar will plunge her blade into your heart first and ask pardon of your corpse later.”

“Your grandmother. The witch, Flemeth.”

“Yes.” Marian replied. She saw his face harden into stone, his thoughts inscrutable. For a moment, she wondered if she had made a mistake, offering her grandmother’s house as sanctuary to this stranger who seemed more beast than man.

It was as if Flemeth was speaking directly into her ear. _The heart of a beast is not evil, child. Beasts are driven by hunger and fear, but the only heart that seeks darkness for the sake of darkness is a human one._

Reassured, she pointed the way. “If you follow this path, it will take you to her house.”

Fenris turned away to look down where the path led. “Then I will follow it.” He said. “I will go ahead of you, then, and make sure the path is safe.”

Marian replied to his offer with a smile. It was too wide and too feral to be ladylike. “You may do what you like. But I need no man to keep me safe.”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I have no doubt.” She thought there was a glimmer of amusement in his bright green eyes, but then he was gone before she could be certain.


	3. in which the wolf tastes Marian's flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She saw a moment of uncertainty flicker across his face, but it was quickly replaced with a menacing scowl. 'I may yet feast upon your flesh.'
> 
> As he spoke, Marian saw his teeth grow even sharper, his voice roughening into something animal and guttural. But she did not look away. A recklessness seized her, and she tilted her chin upwards, so that the pallor of her lovely throat was exposed.
> 
> 'Taste me, then.'"

It was nightfall before Marian finally arrived at the end of the path. It opened up rather abruptly into a small clearing, filled with a chaotic profusion of knee-high wild herbs. Through a small break in the canopy above, the light of the full moon bathed the clearing with a soft silver light.

In the midst of it all stood a wooden cabin. It was small and humble, with only a stone well to keep it company. No one would have thought it home to a witch, much less one of Flemeth’s infamous renown.

There was no sign that anything was amiss, but something prickled at the hairs on the back of her neck. Marian shifted her grip on her staff, looped the basket onto her wrist to keep both her hands free, and pushed open the unlatched door.

The fire on the hearth was down to its last log, throwing uncertain shadows flickering across the walls. Marian smelled something familiar and comforting simmering away in the stew pot. The tables and shelves were strewn with flowers and herbs, flasks and scribbled paper scraps - no more than the usual clutter of Flemeth’s day-to-day. There was no sign that her grandmother had been away for more than half a day, at most.

“Grandmother?” she called out, feeling a little silly as she set the basket down on a table. The cabin was small enough to take in in a single glance – and it was clear that her grandmother was not here.

She unfastened her cloak and hung it neatly on a peg. Then she moved towards the fireplace, intending to stoke the coals and warm the cold cabin to await her grandmother.

Something in the shadows of the darkest corner caught her eye. She took half a step back – then found herself staring at the ceiling, the breath knocked from her body.

Ruthless hands held her wrists down, and she heard the clatter of her staff as it fell to the floor out of her reach. All she could see was a pair of brilliant green eyes, burning with the intensity of his rage. He was straddling her chest, his knees digging into the sides of her ribs. She gasped as pain shot through her, fighting to keep the panic from overwhelming her senses.

“ _Where is Flemeth?_ ” he snarled, his lips drawn back to reveal sharp canines glistening with the promise of violence.

“I don’t know!” she spat back at him, his fury only serving to stoke her own. “And if you value your life, you will leave this place before she returns and makes you regret your very existence.”

He laughed, and it was a horrible sound, dark and angry. “She cannot do worse to me than what she has already done.”

“What do you mean?” Marian demanded. “What do you accuse my grandmother of?”

“I told you my markings were not of my doing.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “They were forced upon me by someone with powerful magic, powerful enough to take my memory from me. But who in these lands wields magic more powerful than the witch Flemeth?”

The white-blue veins marking his arms and neck pulsed, and she could see him stiffen, his muscles tight as if with intense effort, beaded with sweat. His pupils dilated into fathomless pits, blacker than night. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. She could sense something powerful trapped within him, something raw and feral. The tides of the full moon called to it, and he would not be able to hold it back for much longer, though he was fighting against it with all he had.

“You are in pain,” said she, softly.

He flinched as if she had struck him, though she was still helpless in his grip. “Do not give me your pity, witch. It was your own blood that cursed me.”

“No.” Marian spoke with certainty. “Grandmother would never inflict such a curse on one who had done nothing to deserve it.”

“You know nothing of me, girl.”

“I know you aided me in the forest when you had no need to.” She looked fearlessly into his wild eyes, only a handspan from her own. “You saw me wield my magic, and still you let me live.”

His grip on her tightened, hard enough to make her gasp. “Your grandmother has bewitched that cloak of yours. I saw how it protected you from the demon trees of the forest.” He sneered. “No doubt she has charmed it to ensnare any man foolish enough to draw close.”

“I wear it no longer.” She replied with a defiant laugh. “Do you still find me charming?”

She saw a moment of uncertainty flicker across his face, but it was quickly replaced with a menacing scowl. “I may yet feast upon your flesh.”

As he spoke, Marian saw his teeth grow even sharper, his voice roughening into something animal and guttural. But she did not look away. A recklessness seized her, and she tilted her chin upwards, so that the pallor of her lovely throat was exposed.

“Taste me, then.”

He bent down until she could feel his hot breath upon her neck. Desire, sudden and wanton, surged through her with unexpected force, and she did not know if the thudding in her ears was her heartbeat or his.

But then in the next moment he was no longer there. He had flung himself off of her, backing away like a beast being forced into a corner.

“You are mad.”

She stumbled to her feet, making no move to reclaim her staff. Instead she held out a hand towards him. “I am merely proving to you what I already know. You are no monster, Fenris.”

“The full moon will turn me into a monster whether I will it or no. This is the curse that has been laid upon me.” He spoke through teeth clenched against the magic rippling within him. “You will flee, if you value your life.”

“I am the blood of Flemeth, and I run from no man or beast.”

Fenris fell to his knees as the magic overwhelmed him. Marian watched as his muscles shifted, the markings on his limbs writhing like living creatures, his dark skin giving way to blue-white fur. He roared in pain, the sounds becoming less and less human as his face stretched into slavering jaws.

Before her stood the biggest wolf-beast she had ever seen, easily half again as tall as the ones that had attacked her in the woods. His fur was thick and silvery-white, so pale as to be almost blue, and it bristled with strange magic. Only his eyes remained the same, two flecks of bright green that stared intently as she stood her ground in the face of his snarl.

“I mean you no harm, Serah Wolf.”

The wolf that was Fenris gave no sign he understood her words. He stood at attention, every muscle vibrating with focus, as if he were trying to decide whether to fight or flee. Marian looked into his eyes, and her heart ached at what she saw – the eyes of a beast frantic with pain and anger.

“Your teeth and fur do not make you a monster, Fenris.”

She stretched out her hand and took a step towards him. He growled again, but it was subdued and uncertain, and he did not back away.

Emboldened, she took another step.

“No farther, witch.”

Both girl and wolf froze at the approach of the intruder.

In the doorway stood the Templar. In her right hand she wielded her strange red sword. Her armor was no longer pristine but streaked and spattered with fresh blood. Her pale blue eyes blazed with a fanatic’s righteousness of purpose, sending a cold thrill down Marian’s spine.

“I should have suspected.” The Templar stepped inside, and the hatred that radiated from her filled the small cabin with an almost stifling intensity. “No normal human girl would dare travel these woods alone.”

Marian forced herself to speak past the dread tightening her throat. “You are not welcome here, Templar. If my grandmother finds you here, all your shiny armor will not save you from her wrath.”

The woman pointed at her with her strange sword, deaf to her words. “Silence, girl. Your blood is tainted with the darkness that flows in the veins of your grandmother. The same darkness that has cursed this poor man to a lifetime of misery and suffering.”

The wolf that was Fenris stood so still he might as well have been a statue. His green eyes glinted in the darkness, but Marian could not read his thoughts behind them.

“Are you trying to bewitch this man into protecting you?” The Templar took another step forward. “Know you no shame, witch?”

“You have no proof that Grandmother cursed anyone.” Marian shifted to face the Templar. Her staff was out of reach, but it was nothing but a tool. Her magic was in her blood, and all she needed were her hands to wield it.

“She is a witch. What more proof is needed?” The Templar advanced another step. “If I were you, girl, I would get on my knees and pray to the Maker for forgiveness. Perhaps what is left of your soul can still be saved, once you have been purged with holy fire.”

Marian summoned her magic and flung it at the Templar just as she lunged with her sword. The sphere of fire blazed through the air, but the Templar merely raised her hand, and the spell fizzled into thin air as if it had never been.

Then the Templar stepped closer.

Suddenly Marian felt an emptiness she had never felt before. It was as if a barrier of warped glass had been slammed between her and the rest of the world. Everything seemed darker, duller, emptier. And then she realized, with a fear that went all the way down to the marrow of her bones, that she no longer could sense the magic that had ever been at her fingertips.

The Templar came at her, and Marian could see her own death in those pale blue eyes.

Desperate, she blindly twisted to one side as the sword swept down from above. She crashed into a stool and tumbled into an ungraceful heap, the blade leaving a cruel gash in the floorboards where she had stood just a moment ago.

“If you accept your fate, I will grant you a clean death, witch.” The Templar stared down at her, and Marian could see no hint of pity in her pale eyes. “It is far more than you deserve.”

Marian pushed herself upright and lifted her chin. Her heart was hammering so loudly in her ears it was almost deafening. But she clenched her hands into fists and looked into the Templar’s face with all the defiance she could summon. She would not give this monster the satisfaction of her fear.

The Templar drew back her sword, meaning to part Marian’s head from her neck in one clean stroke.

There was a flash of silver as the wolf leapt through the air and knocked her to the ground

It was almost too quick to follow. The Templar had been caught off-guard only for a moment. She was back on her feet in the blink of an eye, swinging her greatsword before her. It was a powerful weapon and she wielded it with skill, but its unusual size put her at a disadvantage in the small space of the cabin.

Fenris moved with supernatural speed, little more than a pale blur, his powerful jaws snapping at the Templar’s limbs. But the metal of her armor held fast against his teeth.

Marian felt her magic flood back into her in a dizzying rush as the Templar focused all her attention on the wolf. For a heartbeat she was paralyzed with panicked indecision. What use was her magic against such a foe?

Fenris yelped as the Templar managed to catch her blade against his right haunch. Dark red stained his white fur.

Quickly, Marian splayed her hands against the floor and cast her spell.

The wood under her palms cracked, paled, then turned white with frost. The frost thickened, spread rapidly in fractal patterns across the room, briefly turning the entire floor into a smooth sheet of ice.

The Templar slipped and fell flat on her back, completely helpless for the space of a heartbeat.

She had barely hit the ground when the wolf was upon her.

His jaws closed with a visceral crunch around her neck, teeth meeting exposed skin. Blood sprayed the air, pooled on the ice in dark red patterns as the wolf clenched his jaws and shook his prey to make certain of her death.

Finally, he let her fall to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a dull thump. Her neck had been savaged until it was little more than a mess of bloody meat. The mad fire in her eyes was now gone, leaving her staring blankly at the ceiling. Her hand still clutched the scarlet sword and would not let go, even in death.

The wolf stared at Marian mutely, and Marian stared back, barely daring to breathe. His muzzle was dripping with red, but the fear that had gripped her heart at the thought of her own death was no longer there.

She held out her hand. Fenris gave a quick bark and shook his head, droplets of blood spraying the air.

“Come to me, my wolf.” Marian whispered. “Fenris.”

After a long moment, he hesitantly approached her, one step at a time, as if still unsure of himself. She held herself still until he was right in front of her, his jaws hovering over her hand, teeth sharp enough to snap her arm through if he so chose. But she made no move to withdraw.

He sniffed, then licked her hand, his tongue hot and rough against her palm. She extended both arms and drew him close until she could bury her face in his fur, warm and soft against her cheek.

His haunch was still sticky with blood. She pulled back slightly, absentmindedly scratching the fur behind his ear. “Will you let me heal you?”

He growled softly at her, a warning.

“You are a stubborn beast,” she chided him, but accepted his refusal with a shrug. “Well, then, let me look amongst grandmother’s things, and see what herbs I can find.”

As Marian rose to her feet, the glitter of the Templar’s red sword caught her eye. Curious, she walked over to study it more closely. She stood above the Templar’s corpse, but was careful not to touch the sword, instead observing it from above.

This close, she could see it was not metal, but crystal. It sparked with magic of its own, but it was no magic Marian had ever seen before. She could feel the energy prickling against her skin, dark and chaotic and hungry. A faint echo of whispering voices tingled just at the edge of her hearing.

Then the blankness of the Templar’s eyes was suddenly alight with scarlet fire.


	4. in which Marian finally reunites with her grandmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harsh red light shone from every pore of her face, even from the whites of her eyes, and her expression was so violently twisted in rage that she was barely recognizable as the woman Marian had first encountered in the woods."

Marian sprang back with a startled cry. The next moment Fenris was in front of her, hackles raised, teeth bared in a low growl. She watched in horror as the dead Templar started to move. Her muscles jerked as she pushed herself to her feet, as if being pulled by unseen strings. The flesh of her neck was in tatters, and blood still ran down her chest, drenching her armor almost black. Her entire body glowed with a sullen red light.

_You think to escape the will of the Maker so easily?_

She had no throat left with which to speak, but her voice seemed to come from the very air, harsh and menacing. The strange sword she wielded filled the cabin with its scarlet aura, and the echo of discordant voices swelled until Marian almost clapped her hands over her ears to block it out. The wolf howled, shaking its head in distress, and the undead Templar drew closer, her bloodless lips twisted in a terrible smile.

“Hold, unnatural thing,” spoke the voice of another.

A flash of golden light sparked between them, bright enough to make the Templar flinch back with a curse. It then shrank into itself, swirling vaguely before gradually sharpening into a human form.

“Grandmother!” Marian cried.

Without a word, Flemeth stretched out her hand, and a barrier shimmered into existence, encasing the three of them in a warm glow that held the angry red light at bay.

“Marian.” She spoke without turning. “I see you have a new friend.”

Marian felt Fenris tense beneath her fingers, a growl rising in the back of his throat. She dug her hands deep into his fur in sudden panic, hoping to keep him from doing something foolish.

Flemeth paused to glance back at the two of them. Her eyes were golden and ancient, too knowing to be altogether human. Fenris did not back down, but Marian felt the enmity in him dissipate somewhat as he met the unflinching gaze of the Witch of the Wilds. His growl trailed away into silence, and though he was still filled with tension, he was no longer poised to attack.

Satisfied, Flemeth turned her attention back to the Templar. Harsh red light shone from every pore of her face, even from the whites of her eyes, and her expression was so violently twisted in rage that she was barely recognizable as the woman Marian had first encountered in the woods.

 _You think your cursed magic will protect you?_ The Templar smashed her sword against the barrier Flemeth had erected, and Marian could feel the reverberation down in the marrow of her bones. _The will of the Maker is on my side! How long do you think this barrier will keep you safe?_

“It will keep us safe for as long as it needs to,” Flemeth replied, serene in the face of her opponent’s madness. “Which won’t be very long, I daresay, judging by your complexion at the moment.”

The witch’s enigmatic words only served to further enrage the Templar. The red sparks around her intensified until even behind Flemeth’s protection, Marian could feel it crackling against her skin. Fenris snarled and bared his teeth, snapping at an enemy he could not touch. The red sword slammed down once more, and Marian sensed the barrier bending and weakening. One more stroke and she might actually break through.

The Templar raised her arms with a scream, drawing ever more deeply on the sword’s power, pulling the energy into her animated corpse with a greed that knew no bounds.

And then a single crack split through her chest, starting at her heart. It splintered its way up her neck, past her lips. Fingers of red light burst through the gaps. And then all at once, the cracks split into countless webs, spidering throughout her body in the blink of an eye.

_NO!_

Scarlet light filled the cabin, chased by the Templar’s growing shrieks of despair. Marian shut her eyes and buried her face into Fenris’s side against the blinding glare of the Templar’s final moments.

When she dared look up, the cabin was once again dark and silent.

The Templar stood before them, petrified into solid red crystal. She held the sword aloft, her face contorted into a grimace of eternal fury. Marian repressed a shudder as she contemplated the statue. Even now, she couldn’t quite fathom the depth of the woman’s hatred.

Fenris stood as still as stone, but when she untwisted her fingers from where she’d been clutching his fur, he shook himself and gave a short bark. Marian absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, and he seemed to tolerate it with a sort of begrudging approval.

Flemeth was studying the statue with mild interest. “Well, I wasn’t quite expecting _that,_ I must admit.”

Marian stepped forward, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What… happened to her?”

“She bit off more than she could chew, foolish woman. And she didn’t even realize she was gnawing on her own arm.” Flemeth replied cryptically. “Don’t get too close, girl. She is deadlier now than she ever was in life.”

She observed the petrified Templar for a few more moments, then turned away to face her granddaughter and the wolf. A crooked smile lit up her lined face. “So, here you are. I was beginning to think you’d never bother yourself to check on your poor old grandmother.”

Marian put her hands on her hips with a flash of indignant understanding. “You knew I would come alone.” She flared. “You meant for me to be bait!”

“Don’t be absurd, child. Bait, as if you were a blind worm wriggling on the end of a fishhook.” Flemeth scoffed. “I did not bring you up to be _bait,_ girl. But yes, I meant for you to draw that madwoman out into the open. I suspected, given enough rope, she’d end up strangling herself. And so she has.”

Her gaze flickered to the wolf, who was sitting back on his haunches, regarding her with wary suspicion. “Now _you,_ I was not expecting. But you proved useful, nonetheless. And you came to my granddaughter’s aid.” She flashed another smile that was all teeth. “Wise choice, lad.”

“Do you know who cursed him, Grandmother?” asked Marian.

“It certainly wasn’t me.” Flemeth retorted. She looked back at Fenris, extending a wrinkled hand to pat him on his head. He huffed in clear displeasure but made no move to protest otherwise. “But it is a powerful curse, born of dark and deliberate intentions.”

Marian stared at Flemeth. “Surely _you_ can break it.”

“Your faith in me is quite flattering, child, but rather misplaced.” Flemeth clucked her tongue. “If you wish to break it, you will have to go to its source.”

The wolf barked sharply several times. Flemeth frowned. “I am no all-knowing demon, no matter what the tales say. All I can tell you that the curse bears the stamp of Tevinter. It is a kingdom far to the east, full of ancient, forbidden magic and foolish mages who wield double-edged swords with no hilts.”

Marian ran her hands through Fenris’s white fur. “Then that is where we will go, my wolf,” she told him, with sudden decisiveness. “We will find the mage that did this to you, and he will answer for his crimes.” Her hands were gentle, but her words smoldered with the promise of fire and vengeance.

Fenris closed his eyes and nuzzled her with a quiet huff. Flemeth arched a brow as she watched the two of them.

“ _My wolf_ , is it now?” she remarked. “Child, you think to traipse off to Maker knows where with this untamed beast as your only companion?”

Marian locked eyes with her grandmother. “I do.”

“Hah!” Flemeth seemed pleased by her granddaughter’s defiance. She made a casual gesture, and the red cloak floated from its peg to settle down onto Marian’s shoulders. She then pulled the hood up over the girl’s head, smoothening the wrinkles so it sat just so. With another gesture she summoned Marian’s staff and put it in her hand. Then she stepped back and regarded her granddaughter with a satisfied smile.

“Well, then.” She cocked her head and fixed a grim eye on the wolf at Marian’s side. “I give to you that which I value above all else in this world, wolf. See that you treasure it well.”

Fenris bared his teeth and barked fiercely at the witch, but she nodded, satisfied with his answer. Marian rolled her eyes. “I am not a trinket, Grandmother, to be tucked into a man’s pocket.”

“Then it’s a good thing a wolf has no pockets.” Flemeth laughed uproariously at her own joke.


	5. epilogue: the story of the girl and the wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Eventually, the memory of Little Red Riding Hood faded from the minds of the villagers and blurred into stories they would tell around the hearth on a cold winter’s night."

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was the darling of her grandmother’s eye. Everywhere she went, she wore a lovely red cloak that her grandmother had made for her, and so everyone called her Little Red Riding Hood.

Then one day, Little Red Riding Hood decided to go visit her grandmother on her own, even though the forest was full of dangerous beasts that could have gobbled her up in a single mouthful. She put on her red cloak, bade her father farewell, and bravely started upon the path to her grandmother’s house.

Hours passed, then a full day went by. The villagers wondered why the little girl hadn’t returned.

The day after, Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother appeared in the village to visit the girl’s father. What the old woman told him, no one ever knew.

After she left, the father came out of his house and told the villagers that his daughter had gone away and would not be returning for a long time. More than that he would not say.

Eventually, the memory of Little Red Riding Hood faded from the minds of the villagers and blurred into stories they would tell around the hearth on a cold winter’s night.

Most agreed that the poor girl had met a tragic end somewhere deep in the woods, where no one would have heard her scream. Everyone knew the forest was filled with all manner of ravenous beasts. Her father should have known better than to allow her to go traipsing off into the wilderness, alone and unprotected.

Some whispered that the girl had actually gone to join her grandmother, the wicked witch of the woods. No doubt the old woman had used her blood magic to turn the girl onto a dark path. A few even claimed to have seen the two of them flying through the night sky on the night of the full moon, naked as the day they were born.

Almost a full year later, a wandering bard, lost in the wilds, happened upon their village and entertained them with a strange tale indeed. He told them of a wandering girl-witch, who wore a red cloak and could summon a lightning storm from a cloudless sky.

The stories were unclear when it came to whom she was traveling with. Some said her companion was a wolf, a great beast with silver-white fur and emerald green eyes, who could behead you with a single snap of his jaws. Others argued that she traveled with a ghost in the shape of a man, with strange blue markings glowing on his arms, who could reach into your chest and pull out your still-beating heart with his bare hands.

The stories did agree on one thing – that the girl-witch and her strange ghost-wolf companion stalked the land at night, leaving a trail of blood and chaos in their wake, in search of a man.

Who this man was and why they sought him, no one knew. One thing was certain, though: Maker have mercy on his soul if they ever caught up to him.

But that is a tale for another time.


End file.
